Helfort's War Book 4: The Battle for Commitment Planet (12 page)

“It’s not good, is it?”

“No, Michael, it’s not, and it’ll be even worse if we can’t rely on our spacers to do their duty. I’ll talk to the commander in chief. She needs to get a handle on this. Talk to me in a year’s time. Maybe Fleet can pull a rabbit or two out of the hat. I’ll also talk to Admiral Chou at personnel. I think Fleet needs to establish just how bad things are out there.”

“What about the politicians. Have they seen the projections? How do they feel about waiting five years?”

“That’s also above your pay grade, Michael, so sorry, no comment.”

“Understood, Admiral. Forgive my French, sir, but they’ll shit themselves, though.”

Jaruzelska shrugged. “Can’t say. Anyway, enough of that. Let’s talk about you.”

Michael’s heart sank. Jaruzelska’s ability to get to the heart of things was legendary. “Okay, sir,” he said, struggling to keep his voice matter-of-fact despite the fact that his heart had started to thump.

“I’ve been reviewing your recent operations: Balawal, Barcoola, Grendell, Tyrlathi. To be fair, you did what you were sent to do, but I can’t say that you executed them with the flair I’ve come to expect from you. Too many unnecessary risks, too many shortcuts. It’s as if you just wanted to get the job done quickly, like … oh, I don’t know … like there was something better for you to do, somewhere else you’d rather be.”

“Every one of those operations did what it was supposed to do, sir,” Michael said. “And the Nyleth system commander hasn’t raised any concerns.”

Jaruzelska’s eyes narrowed in a sudden flare of anger. “That’s because he does not know you the way I do, Lieutenant,” she said, her words clipped, “and I know you very well. So I strongly suggest that this is not the time to play games with me.”

“No, Admiral,” Michael said with an apologetic bob of his head; with a sudden stab of fear, he knew it would not take much for the admiral to tear the truth out of him. “Sorry, sir.”

“Hmm.” Jaruzelska paused. She looked Michael directly in the eye with a focused intensity that kicked his heartbeat up yet another gear. “So tell me … why would that be?” she said.

Fighting back an overwhelming urge to tell Jaruzelska about Anna, Michael forced himself to sound calm and in control. “Well, sir. The honest answer is, I don’t know,” he said. “But what you say is right. My executive officer shares your concerns, and she’s already spoken to me.”

Jaruzelska’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “She has? That takes guts. Not many executive officers would have done that.”

“Jayla Ferreira’s a great XO, sir. She’s tough, she’s smart, and she’s focused. She also has a clear view of right and wrong. I’m lucky to have her.”

“I think you are, but she’s not the issue here. You are. So what’re you doing to fix the problem?”

Michael offered a silent prayer of thanks that Jaruzelska had moved past the still unanswered question: Why was he performing below his best?

“Recognize the problem,” he said, “accept it, make sure I deal with recommendations made by my CIC team, consider them, don’t dismiss them out of hand. Less Michael Helfort, more
Redwood
command team.”

Jaruzelska smiled. “In other words, act like the Michael Helfort I know so well, the Michael Helfort who blew the Hammer antimatter plant at Devastation Reef to hell.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Michael said, doing his best to look chastened rather than relieved. He doubted he could have withstood one of Jaruzelska’s cross-examinations; he had seen her reduce tougher spacers than he to quivering blobs of jelly.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Jaruzelska said, “because if I’m right about Ferreira, she’ll understand precisely what Fleet Regulations have to say on the subject of a captain’s fitness to command.”

“She does, sir. She told me she understands her obligations under Fleet Regulations, section 34, subsection 15.”

“Fine,” Jaruzelska said. “I don’t think I need to say any more, do I?”

“No, sir. You don’t.”

“Turning to other matters. My shuttle’s due in less than half an hour, and I have a few more things to talk to you about before I go. First …”

“All set, Jayla?”

“All set, sir.
Redwood
,
Red River
, and
Redress
are ready in all respects to go.”

“Right, let’s do this.”

“Yes, sir. All stations. Assume damage control state 2, airtight condition yankee. Propulsion, main engines to stand by.”

Michael settled back to let
Redwood
and her sister ships make their final preparations to get under way and depart Nyleth orbit, the familiar routine ebbing and flowing around him. “Captain, sir.”

“Yes, Jayla.”

“Ship is at damage control state 2, airtight condition yankee.
Redwood, Red River
, and
Redress
are nominal. We have clearance from Nyleth nearspace control to depart. We’re good to go, sir.”

“Roger. All stations, stand by to leave orbit.”

Five minutes later, Michael allowed himself to relax a fraction. Another few hours, he thought, and the mission would become a reality, the option to turn back gone. He looked across at Ferreira as she entered the combat information center; he waved her over.

“So, Jayla. Looks like we’re committed.”

“Yes, sir. We are.”

“Not having second thoughts?”

“Hell, yes.” Ferreira grinned. “Who wouldn’t? Even though
this feels like every other time we’ve broken orbit, that it’s just another mission like all the rest, it sure isn’t.”

“No,” Michael said softly, “that it’s not. Can’t have been too many missions in Fleet history where nobody was coming back.”

“None that I can think of. But you know what I hate most, sir?”

“What?”

“Knowing that we’ll survive … most likely … but
Redwood, Red River
, and
Redress
won’t. I hate that.”

“Me, too.” Michael paused to look around. “I’ve never thought of ships as just big lumps of ceramsteel and titanium. It’s old-fashioned, I know, but I’ve always thought ships have souls. It makes me feel like we’re killing them, even if it is in a good cause.”

“Tell you one thing, sir. Nobody’s going to forget these three ships, never. This operation is a doozy. It breaks every rule in the Fighting Instructions, it treats Fleet Regulations with contempt, and it’s going to destroy the careers and reputations of all of us. I’m going to be branded a criminal for life, and so, sir, are you.” Ferreira looked at Michael and grinned. “Talk about taking your place in history.”

Michael had to laugh. “I can handle all that, Jayla. But you want to know what really bothers me?”

“That we fail? That we go through all this and Anna … you know.”

“Actually, no. I think we’ve planned this well enough to know that our chances of success are as good as any mission I’ve been on. No, what really bothers me is the fact that once I’m dirtside on Commitment, I’m marooned there until this damn war ends.”

“If we live that long. It’s going to be tough, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Michael nodded, grim-faced. “Very tough. I know we’ve talked about this, but the thought that I might never get home again—now, that is hard.”

“Hard to die so far away from home,” Ferreira said, her voice catching for an instant, “maybe all alone. Not good.”

Michael knew how she felt; a churning mix of doubt, fear,
and apprehension had preyed on him more and more as the time approached for them to depart Nyleth. He also knew that he and Ferreira were not alone. The same feelings troubled everyone, the pressure building remorselessly as the day to leave approached. “I felt that way when I lost Corporal Yazdi on Commitment the last time.”

“Corporal Yazdi? The marine who escaped from POW camp with you after
Ishaq
was ambushed?”

“Yes, her. Walking away from her grave, leaving her there on her own, maybe forever, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“There’s one more thing that bothers me, sir. My parents. I hate to think what I’m doing to them.”

“At least yours aren’t ex-Fleet, Jayla. My mother’s a retired commodore, my father a retired captain. I can’t begin to understand how they’re going to take it.”

“In a word, sir, the same way mine will: badly.”

“Yeah.” He laughed softly. “I spent hours and hours trying to get my last vidmail right, trying to make sure they understood what I was trying to do and why.” He paused to shake his head. “Pretty sure I did not succeed,” he added, his face glum.

“Me neither,” Ferreira said. “But it’s too late to worry about them now. They’re going to be pissed no matter what any of us say.”

“Yes.” Michael sighed. “So be it. I just hope they’ll eventually understand why we’ve done what we’ve done.”

   Clear of Nyleth nearspace and in pinchspace on vector direct for Commitment, home planet of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds, Michael watched the first phase of Operation Gladiator kick off. Kallewi’s marines, the largest and therefore potentially the most dangerous group onboard, would be the first to go through what some wiseass had called “the mutiny mill.” Needless to say, Michael had not seen the joke. The process was long and drawn out, the marines summoned in batches by Kallewi, briefed in detail, and asked the hard question: Are you in or out?

For Michael, it seemed to take forever, so he was a much-relieved man when it was finished. As Kallewi predicted, some
of the marines had declined the invitation to participate in the crime of the century. The only surprise had been two marines from Z Section, making a total of seven with the common sense to stay well away from the insanity that was Operation Gladiator. They had refused to say why they wanted no part of it, lapsing into sullen silence, refusing to talk. Kallewi had not wasted any time on them. Plasticuffed, they were escorted to the holding pen to join their fellow abstainers.

With the marines done, Michael dealt with the rest of
Redwood
’s crew en bloc. Not that there were many of them;
Redwood
’s complement included only six junior spacers, all waiting patiently, flanked—not that any of them knew it—by Michael’s co-conspirators, stun guns close to hand if needed. Before he started to speak, Michael had looked at them, wondering if he had any right to ask them to be part of what was beyond doubt the most crazy scheme of all time.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll play you a holovid before I tell you what I’m going to do about it. Please, don’t say or ask anything until it’s finished.”

   By the time Colonel Hartspring’s vidmail was finished, the silence was absolute, the shock on every face plain to see.

“Right,” Michael said. “That’s the problem. Here’s what we plan to do about it and why.”

As Michael laid out Operation Gladiator, suspicion replaced shock. One of Sedova’s crew, her sensors man, Leading Spacer Jackson, made no secret of his disapproval. Head down, he refused to look Michael in the eye; the moment Michael finished, he climbed to his feet.

“I want no part of this, this, this … this madness,” Jackson said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It is mutiny, and I won’t go along with it. I can’t believe you’d do this, sir. After all we’ve been through. You’ve betrayed everything Fleet stands for. You’re a disgrace. You’re not fit—”

Bienefelt was on Jackson in a flash, one giant hand at his throat, the other grabbing his shipsuit and lifting him bodily into the air. “Watch your mouth, spacer; watch your damn mouth,” she growled, her anger obvious.

“No, no, Chief. Let him be,” Michael said. “Anyone else?”
he said while Bienefelt pushed Jackson back down into his seat more firmly than was necessary.

To Michael’s surprise, Faris stayed seated. After an uncomfortable pause, Lomidze stood up.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, his voice breaking, wringing his hands in an agony of embarrassment. “I’d like to go along, but I can’t. I have too much to lose. I’m sorry, I …” His voice faded into silence. Recovering his composure, he continued. “Jacko’s wrong.” Jackson shot a look of pure hatred at Lomidze. “Sorry, Jacko, but you are. It’s not madness. Fact is, it’s the sanest thing I’ve heard in a long time. No disrespect, sir, but I can’t leave my family. It’s too much to ask. Sorry.”

“I understand,” Michael said softly. “I’m sorry, too. I’ll miss you all.” He looked right into Jackson’s face. “I know you think I’m wrong doing this, but I have my reasons. We all do. I hope you can at least understand that. I wish there’d been another way, but there isn’t. Chief Bienefelt?”

“Sir?”

“Take them away.”

“Sir.”

When the spacers were gone, Michael looked at those left. “Now, the rest of you,” he said. “You need to be sure about this. This is a one-way ticket. There’s no going back. It will be dangerous. It will be hard. I don’t know if any of us will ever see home again.”

“May I speak, sir?” Leading Spacer Paarl said, coming to his feet.

“Of course.”

“I think I’m right in saying that your mother and sister were onboard the
Mumtaz
when the Hammers hijacked it.”

“Yes, they were.”

“The man in charge of the hijack operation, Andrew Comonec. He shot a woman in cold blood soon after his men took the ship. You remember that?”

“How can I forget? My sister still has nightmares.”

“That woman, the woman he shot, she was my grandmother, sir,” Paarl said, the pain of memory all too evident on his face. “Agnetha Jasmina Paarl was her name, and I loved her like she was my own mother. She was ninety-seven years old, going to
see her sister for the first time in fifty years. She was a good woman. She never harmed a soul, and the Hammers shot her out of hand. For me,” he continued, “this is a no-brainer. Just thought you should know where I’m coming from, sir,” he finished, voice cracking, overwhelmed by emotion.

“You’re not alone, spacer. Welcome aboard. Now, Leading Spacer Faris.”

“Yes, sir?”

“We didn’t think you’d want any part of this. You sure?”

“Yes, sir. I am,” Faris said, his voice rock-steady. “Absolutely sure.”

“What about the wife and kid? I can’t think of a better reason to say no.”